All you go-getters out there will probably start reading this and think that this post proposes something lazy, indulgent, and/or stupid.

My aim is, after you’ve read this—you do have time to read 700 words, don’t you?—that you’ll see the value in cultivating unscheduled time and perhaps even experiment with trying it out for yourself.  For those of you who are accustomed to this practice, I hope you’ll feel affirmed in your choice.  We live in a culture that frowns upon lazy afternoons, and I want you to know you have an idle ally.

What is idleness?

By idleness, I mean simply having a reasonably generous portion of unstructured, unscheduled time to play with any way you like.  Ideally, that timeframe isn’t bookended by pressing engagements, so you can ease into and out of your idle practice as you wish.

Being idle doesn’t mean doing nothing.  It means letting your whims for leisure dictate how you spend your time.  You don’t have to go anywhere or do anything in particular—that’s the main “rule.”  You can cozy up with a good book, or sleep in, or bake a pie, or spend time outside, or play a card game with a friend, or have a nap.  It depends on what you fancy at that very moment—that’s what you get to do in an idle hour.

If you’re feeling guilty during your idle practice, you are probably preoccupied with fears of “being lazy.”  People who struggle most with idle hours are high-achieving, work-focused, and often competitive.  It’s best to remind yourself that idleness, in moderation, can have some good effects.

Idleness is not laziness, although I tend to think of idleness and laziness as often encompassing similar activities and attitudes—one word just has a lot more social and emotional baggage than the other.

Read below for some ideas on how idle hours, in moderation, can be nourishing and healthy for you and your schedule.

Why bother?

Good things come out of idleness.

Idle hours let the body, heart, and mind lie fallow for a little while.  It seeds your brain with creative notions.  It encourages playfulness, trial and error.  It also gives your inner adult a bit of a break.

Lots of experimentation and creativity can come out of living in the land of low-stakes for a little while.  Idle practice is, by its very nature, slow and patient and gentle and very, very low-stakes.  It is an hour that does not aspire to greatness.  It doesn’t need to be at the top of its class.  And, it doesn’t particularly care whether it produces something interesting or amazing at the end of its hour lifespan.

Idle hours can offer a really great reality check.  You might be prone to getting caught up in the details of your life, worried about a certain decision that really needs making, or perhaps trying to solve a problem that doesn’t seem to go away no matter what you do.  Idle hours can let you escape the prison of your own priorities and dilemmas for a while.  If you’re lucky, they may even shed some light on the situation when you take it back up after a few hours “away” in idle-time.

How do I do it?

Do stuff just for the sake of doing it.  Put process before product—in other words, do something that brings you joy without stressing about whether you “did it right” or “did it best” or “did it fastest.”

See if you can reclaim two hours together, once a week, to do something you feel like doing.  Best you don’t decide what you’re going to do ahead of time—simply protect the time, wait for it to arrive, and then see what happens.

The idle hour

The dominant culture in the United States is one that thrives on activity and productivity.  Indeed, the first question you are commonly asked, after your name, when meeting a new person is, “What do you do?”

Idle practice flies in the face of these governing principles.

“You may have billed a bunch of hours on a Sunday afternoon,” the idle hour says, “but I rather wish you’d join me instead.  Tomorrow, we’re watching the morning sunlight angle in from the window to creep across the bedsheets.  After that, some painting, three chapters of our favorite book, and then a nap.  Maybe next time?”

So, how many unscheduled hours do you have in a week?  I mean truly untouched, malleable hours that don’t have some sort of commitment etched into them?

To get an accurate figure, subtract the hours you spend sleeping, eating, running errands, working, commuting, visiting friends or family, cleaning house, or keeping appointments.  Look at whatever is left, then ask yourself:  does it feel like enough?